I hate the Apple Store.

I hate the Apple Store more than walking through Lakeview on St. Patrick's Day. I hate it because it's not even as entertaining as walking past thirty bars with half-naked (or completely naked, while hailing a cab, because that's certainly effective) Midwestern post-grads. I hate it because, unlike St. Patrick's Day in Chicago, it is completely, utterly, and disgustingly pretentious.

I spent two hours in the Apple Store on Michigan Avenue on Friday. The "Genius Bar" was - shocker! - short-staffed, and the few geniuses there were busy being social inept and greasy. One of them was talking to a customer's very, very ancient mother on a webcam, explaining to her how video conferencing worked. And my genius had me sit at the bar, watching my computer go through a stress test, which involved running iTunes, chess, and some crazy-assed graphing program (apparently I can really put my eleventh-grade pre-Calc to work with my iBook). It was supposed to show me how they fixed my computer problem, and I was relieved that finally, my computer would no longer shut off randomly and not turn on again.

Then I got home and my computer wouldn't turn on. Thanks, turds.

Also, Justin Long is a dickface and it makes me want to never buy an Apple again.